


Child Safety Protocols

by Lailuva



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Set after Episode 4 and before Episode 5, do not yeet the baby, new dad is trying his best, no baby yodas are (permanently) harmed in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22027306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lailuva/pseuds/Lailuva
Summary: How Mando got Baby Yoda his car seat.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 436





	Child Safety Protocols

**Author's Note:**

> Since Mando is only a Level 1 Dad, I figure something must've happened to get him to figure out the kid needs a car seat...

The kid always wanted to be in his lap or perched on the console when they were in the cockpit. As near as the Mandalorian could figure, he liked watching the stars or all the blinking lights on the ship’s switches. Right now, however, he was in the back seat, happily distracted with one of the toys Winta had given him before they left Sorgan, and the Mandalorian could plot their next course in peace.

The navicomputer beeped at him, indicating he needed to turn the ship in order to jump properly. He did, more sharply than he meant to, and heard a loud squeal behind him. He turned to see the child giggling madly.

“You like that, huh?” He turned the ship again, no path in particular, just enough to make the change in gravity cause that swooping feeling in his belly. The child laughed and squealed in delight, and the Mandalorian couldn’t help but smile at the sound. He turned the ship again for the kid’s amusement, and again, and this time even sharper -

_ Thunk. _ Then, wailing.

He whipped around in his seat to see the kid on the floor, clutching his skull, screaming louder than he’d ever heard.

“Oh shit.” He rushed over, scooped the kid up, inspected the head for blood. The child bawled, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, _ad’ika,”_ said the Mandalorian, frantically tracing the little head to feel any injuries to the skull over and over again. No blood, no new bumps, but he kept checking again and again. “It’s okay,” he repeated, “it’s okay.”

The kid did not stop crying, pressing his face into the cloth at his neck. The Mandalorian bounced him, trying to calm him down. He was pretty sure the kid was unhurt at this point, but the pitiful wails went right through his armor and straight to the heart. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to.”

He looked down at the seat. No armrests, no sides to keep the kid in place. It was meant for adults. Ideally, adults who knew better than to fling a toddler across the cockpit. 

"We have to find you a better seat," he said. The kid sniffled and rubbed his nose on the Mandalorian's cloak. 

Surely he had something that he could rig into a safer seat for the kid. Not for the first time, he wished he’d retrieved the hover-crib; it would’ve made a lot of things easier, from traveling to bedtime. But the risk it’d had some sort of tracker in it was too great, and judging from listings on the Holonet, he’d need to do a lot more jobs before he could afford a new one.

The kid whined when he made to put him down to walk, so the Mandalorian carried him through the  _ Razor Crest, _ eyeing anything that could be repurposed while the kid leaned against his chest, one hand locked into the folds of his cloak.

“Maybe the netting?” he asked aloud, touching some of the stuff hanging from his ceiling, but he dismissed it immediately; the kid needed something sturdy in case they were in a situation rough enough to make stuff fly around the ship. He sighed. “Maybe we should've taken that crib in the village like Omera offered.”

The kid cooed. “You’re right, not enough space around here,” said the Mandalorian.

He’d mostly gotten things reordered since he’d unpacked then repacked the ship during their stay at Sorgan, but poking through the few crates left out, he found an empty one. “That’s right,” he said to the kid, “we left Omera a few blasters, in case the raiders got greedy again.”

He tapped the crate experimentally. It was definitely sturdy, and small enough it would probably fit on the chair. “Only one way to find out,” he said. The kid cooed, looking at the crate with interest.

He wasn’t quite sure how he managed to haul the crate and the kid back up to the cockpit but he did somehow. The kid was more like his usual self now, babbling curiously as the Mandalorian set the crate in the chair. He patted the kid’s head - no harm in checking again, just in case - but finding nothing out of the ordinary turned his attention to rigging the crate into some kind of child’s seat.

The child allowed himself to be put down in the other chair. The Mandalorian hesitated, but when he didn’t fuss or show any fear about sitting down alone, let him be. “Okay,” said the Mandalorian to him. “Let’s see what we can do with this.”

He set to tweaking and fiddling, occasionally narrating what he was doing for the benefit of the child, who watched him with content interest. At first he thought he could just wedge the crate onto the chair and be done with it, but one spin sent the crate tipping over and a terrifying vision of the kid in it when it happened straight into his brain. It took three trips down to the bottom of the ship (the child squawking a demand to be brought along each time) before he found something suitable to strap the crate to the chair. He sawed the spare bits of cargo netting into suitable pieces and strapped the crate to the chair’s back. He looked over at the kid, who cooed and smiled at him, and decided he’d better strap it to the bottom of the chair too just to be safe.

Of course securing the crate meant the lid no longer stayed open, and try as he might he couldn’t get it to work. He’d hoped it could be an extra hiding spot for the kid, in case someone ever got on the ship, but keeping the kid from flying out of the seat again was more important. He pried the lid off without undoing his hard work securing the crate, though not without a pinched finger and a slip of a word that made him grateful the kid couldn’t speak yet.

“Okay, I think we’re good,” he said finally, standing to inspect his handiwork. It didn’t look like much, but the crate was sturdy and another spin of the chair didn’t dislodge it; in fact, the chair had difficulty spinning at all now. “Wanna try it out?”

The kid chirped, reaching out his hands. The Mandalorian obligingly picked him up, and the child immediately grasped the finger he’d pinched, looking back up at him.

“It’s fine,” said the Mandalorian, ignoring the sudden tightness in his throat. “Here. Try it out.”

He set the kid in the crate. It was just the right size; he still had room to move, and it wasn’t too deep to keep him from looking around. He burbled happily, then looked up at the Mandalorian expectantly.

“I guess we should make sure it really works,” said the Mandalorian. He kept looking at the kid. His feet didn’t want to move for some reason.

A demanding squawk meant he needed to entertain the kid, and his little claws were gripping the crate expectantly. The Mandalorian sighed, then turned around and sat down in the pilot’s chair.

Ever so gently, he turned the ship, banking left just enough to barely feel it. He looked over his shoulder. The kid hadn’t moved, and was giving him a downright annoyed look.

“We have to make sure it’s secure,” the Mandalorian told him, but he turned the ship again, a little harder this time. The child cooed, and when he turned it harder again he earned a giggle and the sound of a shifting body.

He had to check the straps then - they had to be secure, he had to make sure - while the child grumbled at him. He shook the chair, then again harder, but the crate still didn’t move. The baby all but growled at him the whole time, until finally he took the pilot’s seat again. He took a deep breath, and banked the ship as hard as he could.

The child laughed in delight, and when he looked over and saw it still safely in its makeshift seat instead of flung across the floor, he finally let a smile spread over his face. “All right, enough of that,” he said. “Let’s head on out.”

The kid chirruped agreeably, and the  _ Razor Crest _ headed out into the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Ad'ika = Little one in Mando'a
> 
> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](https://ooops-i-arted.tumblr.com/post/189813614718/child-safety-protocols)


End file.
